On horseback, in the centre of the band, M. Lacheneur felt his hair turning white with anguish. Would not this delay ruin everything? What would the others, who were waiting at the Croix d’Arcy, think! What were they doing at this very moment? “Onward! onward!” he repeated. Maurice, Chanlouineau, Jean, Marie-Anne, and about twenty of the old soldiers of the Empire, understood and shared Lacheneur’s despair. They knew the terrible danger they were incurring, and they, too, repeated: “Faster! Let us march faster!” Vain exhortation! It pleased these people to go slowly. Suddenly the entire band stopped. Some of the peasants, chancing to look back, had seen the lamps of Mlle. de Courtornieu’s carriage gleaming in the darkness. It came rapidly onward, and soon overtook them. The peasants recognized the coachman’s livery, and greeted the vehicle with shouts of derision. M. de Courtornieu, by his avariciousness, had made even more enemies than the Duc de Sairmeuse; and all the peasants who thought they had more or less reason to complain of his extortions were delighted at this opportunity to frighten him. For, that they were not thinking of vengeance, is conclusively proved by the sequel. Hence great was their disappointment when, on opening the carriage-door, they saw within the vehicle only Mlle. Blanche and Aunt Medea, who uttered the most piercing shrieks. But Mlle. de Courtornieu was a brave woman. “Who are you?” she demanded, haughtily, “and what do you desire?” “You will know to-morrow,” replied Chanlouineau. “Until then, you are our prisoner.” “I see that you do not know who I am, boy.” “Excuse me. I do know who you are, and, for this very reason, I request you to descend from your carriage. She must leave the carriage, must she not, Monsieur d’Escorval?” “Very well! I declare that I will not leave my carriage; tear me from it if you dare!” They would certainly have dared had it not been for Marie-Anne, who checked some peasants as they were springing toward the carriage. “Let Mademoiselle de Courtornieu pass without hinderance,” said she. But this permission might produce such serious consequences that Chanlouineau found courage to resist. “That cannot be, Marie-Anne,” said he; “she will warn her father. We must keep her as a hostage; her life may save the life of our friends.” Mlle. Blanche had not recognized her former friend, any more than she had suspected the intentions of this crowd of men. But Marie-Anne’s name, uttered with that of d’Escorval enlightened her at once. She understood it all, and trembled with rage at the thought that she was at the mercy of her rival. She resolved to place herself under no obligation to Marie-Anne Lacheneur. “Very well,” said she, “we will descend.” Her former friend checked her. “No,” said she, “no! This is not the place for a young girl.” “For an honest young girl, you should say,” replied Blanche, with a sneer.